


you who wish to conquer pain

by ossseous (ozean)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gwaine-centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozean/pseuds/ossseous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of anyone to spend so many nights and days with, Merlin would be his first choice.  Over his king, over his fellow knights, even over a pretty girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was over a fire that he noticed it first. 

It was just them and the evening that darkened and darkened as every minute passed. A clear thing, yet crisp like ice and chattering their bones as they hurried to set up camp, if just to get a fire started to warm their cold fingers. They didn’t really need to communicate their roles as they found an area clear enough for their camp and dismounted their palfreys. Merlin set their horses up for the night, strapping on their feedbags with soothing words that were lost beneath their blusters. In turn, Gwaine gathered the driest chunks of wood from the forest floor, breaking rotted branches with his feet, enjoying the sharp crack that rung out through the trees with each one. It was something they did the night before, and would likely do until they caught up with the other knights. That is, unless they came across an inn or a home with any space to rent. 

But if Gwaine was to be wholly honest, as he often tried to be, he wasn’t complaining. Of anyone to spend so many nights and days with, Merlin would be his first choice. Over his king, over his fellow knights, even over a pretty girl.

There was really no one else who managed to withstand his chatter like Merlin could. Or more like, no one else was willing to. Too often he was met with silence as companions tried to subtly, and at times not so subtly, get him to shut up. He knew the look, the rolled eyes, the shared glances of exasperation, and the bored grumbles of thoughtless agreement, anything really to make him stop talking as soon as possible. But Merlin prattled on right back, filling in the gaps of his thoughts with thoughts of his own until the silence that settled between them was a comfortable one. A silence of two friends who had said all they needed to say for the moment, waiting for the next topic to drift into their minds.

They were awashed in that comfortable silence, having just discussed which was better: poultry or beef—neither of which they were lucky enough to be having that night—as Gwaine struck the flint over and over and over with mounting frustration. He cursed, near to pelting the useless thing straight at the nearest tree when the kindling finally smoked and then burst into the tiniest little flame, ready to grow into a healthy fire. 

It seemed almost off how the spark caught just slightly a moment too soon after he struck the flint. But he shrugged, not caring much to question the unknowable parts of the universe—the search for those answers he would leave to the learned men that thoughtfully roamed the archives of Camelot, robes brushing along the floor. Off to his side, he heard Merlin chuckle a little at his ended plight as he neared the growing fire. 

 

Merlin began the preparation for their pottage as the fire shrunk down to the glowing coals that remained. The both of them enjoyed the warmth that radiated in welcomed waves by settling themselves right next to the fire. Gwaine went as far as to settle his boots on one of the charred logs, half of it crumbled away to ash and charcoal, the other half slow to burn away. He watched as Merlin pulled out the pot and the bowls and the ladle, laying them out in a neat line, before finally yanking some vegetables from one of the saddle bags. He cleared his throat pointedly, nodding towards the fire pit when Gwaine looked to him. 

“Get some stones for me, will you?” He asked, but it was more a command than a request and before Gwaine could even respond, Merlin was back to digging through a different saddle bag.

Gwaine quirked an eyebrow. “And what do you need stones for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe for the pot to sit on?” He gestured to the pot in question where it sat propped and tilted between his feet. Pulling out a small knife, he started to cut haphazard chunks of carrot into it, letting them drop without much worry over his aim.

Gwaine made a show of turning to look at the ground around him, hands splayed in confusion. “I don’t see any.”

“Perhaps you should find some then?” And Merlin shrugged, but the smile he tried to hide belied the fact that he knew Gwaine had a bit of a hike ahead of him. 

He would never tell Merlin some things. Like that he knew what the stones were for, or that he didn’t really mind going in search of some, glad for an opportunity to stretch his stiff legs some more. Even gladder still to pick up some slack, make Merlin’s life a little easier. But he couldn’t really give in too easily, couldn’t let Merlin know how readily he would give in to him. Something about letting that slip felt dangerous.

“My labor is very valuable, Merlin. Or have you forgotten?”

Merlin snorted. “I’m sure it is.”

“And collecting stones isn’t quite what men spend their very valuable time doing,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt, suppressing his smile with an exaggerated sigh as he stood nonetheless, straying from the camp and closer to the tree line. “For the record,” he shouted over his shoulder, pushing into the brush and deeper into the woods, “I’m going to bring back the best damn stones you have ever seen, so I expect to be treated to the best damn stew I’ve ever had when I get back.”

“We’ll see about that,” he heard, and far enough away from camp as he was, he let a fond grin slip through.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked nearly a quarter of a mile from their camp before he found any rocks that could be considered bigger than a pebble. They lined a stream that cut a jagged line through the woods. A slow trickle of water spilled out over the rocks in such a languid meander that Gwaine nearly got lost in the calm beauty of it. Quickly though regretted his lack of foresight in not bringing some waterskins along in case he came across some water source to fill them with, and was gladder still that no one was around to call him out on it. But he didn’t dwell on it too long, dropping his bag onto the ground as he crouched by the water. He knew it would be near to freezing, hesitating to even touch a finger to it. But he told himself to man up and scooped some up to drink, coughing down what he was certain might have been the coldest water he had ever had to drink.

Of the many rocks available, he had to beat back the mischievous side of him that, for just a split second, considered dragging a single large rock back just too see Merlin’s exasperation. He kicked some around, making an attempt at finding some nice looking ones until he remembered all they were going to be used for was to balance a pot over some coals. Gwaine couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his own fussiness. In the end he found six of varying but similar sizes, rinsing the muddier ones off in the stream before dropping them each in his satchel. Even as he groaned and lifted the heavy bag over his shoulder, the extra weight on the walk back was better than having to make a whole other return trip if the rocks were found to be too small or too large or in some way did not meet Merlin’s needs.

Night encroached as he made his return. The shadows did not grow long as much as spread, etching out and staining everything in darkness. He neared camp just as the last of the sun’s light disappeared beyond the horizon, but as he got to the clearing, he found himself not led by the light of fire, but by the soft humming tune coming from his campmate. It took him a great deal of work not to laugh and not to surprise the horses and not to make a noise as he stepped carefully though loose brush and dangerously snappable twigs. But he made it worryingly close, coming up not a few inches behind Merlin’s back.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?”

All the effort he put into his stealth was more than worth it when Merlin jumped straight up from the log he sat on, scrambling back in his surprise, toppling the empty bowls he had set out. Merlin glanced about, perhaps for something to use as a weapon, but once he saw it was Gwaine he just let his head drop back on the ground with a relieved laugh.  
Merlin said his name then, muttered it in a way Gwaine knew best, with reprimand and annoyance, but there was a smile threatening so hard to play across Merlin’s lips, so he didn’t take it too much to heart. Instead he upended his bag of stones, letting them spill out at Merlin’s feet with dull thuds.

“Best damn stones,” he said with a flourish of his hand, dropping the bag next to them.  
“They are okay stones,” Merlin said, sitting up and picking some of them up and turning them over, as though expecting to discover some fault or prank. Despite the light scoff Merlin gave with a shake of his head, he began setting a few of them amongst the coals, attempting to make as even as surface as he could before he balanced the pot upon them.

Once the pottage was as cooked as it was going to get, Gwaine replaced some firewood on the fire, tossing some heavy logs, rearranging them to provide ample enough circulation to get the fire going once more. As one of the smaller chunks of firewood caught fire, Merlin readied the bowls. He almost didn’t say anything, but as though he couldn’t have stopped himself, Gwaine questioned aloud whether or not Merlin actually really cleaned out the bowls he had knocked down in his flailing about.

“Of course I did,” he said with offense, but Gwaine laughed as Merlin turned and quickly scrubbed at the bowls with his sleeve before turning back and ladling the stew into them as though he never even moved them. Gwaine wouldn’t have really minded, after all, he had eaten much worse than stew with some dirt in it in his time of wandering tavern to tavern, fighting ring to fighting ring. But, an opportunity to tease Merlin couldn’t be passed. He gave his thanks as Merlin handed him a bowl, spoon already stuck inside.

Merlin sat back down across from him, waiting before tucking into his own. “How is it? Best you’ve ever had?” He asked.

Gwaine took a showy bite, appreciating Merlin’s anticipation, and appreciating the attention even more. He let out a pleased groaned as he swallowed it down, trying not to laugh at Merlin’s expression, one that so plainly spoke of how well he knew Gwaine’s theatrics

“It is good,” he said as convincingly as he could, scooping another spoonful eagerly into his mouth before following it with a gulp of water. The night before they tided themselves over with some bread, having taken until the last minute of the evening to set up camp, neither of them wanting to prolong getting their weary bodies warm and to sleep. So while he wouldn’t have said it out loud, he thought that perhaps anything would have tasted good in comparison. Gwaine took a chance then, glancing up at his companion once more only to find Merlin looking down into his own bowl, smug with the praise.

“Make sure you tell Arthur,” Merlin said, not even looking up. “I don’t think he appreciates my cooking skills as much as you do.”

He grunted a laugh, dug into his food and ignored that little ache that settled in his deepest reaches of his chest. The one that always fluttered, unreachable, the one ache he didn’t understand of so many.


	3. Chapter 3

The warmth that pulsed from those crackling flames was more like a blessing than anything else that had happened in his life. They both stuck their hands out, and he pulled off his gloves just so he could feel that heat radiate against his skin in soothing relief.

“Maybe it will snow,” Merlin said, and Gwaine looked gladly up toward the cloudless sky and the stars the peeked through the bare branches above. Even if he doubted they would find themselves covered in snow in the morning, Gwaine knew all too well how quickly a storm could roll in, unseen and unheard until it was too late.

“Oh, that’d be just our luck, wouldn’t it? Freeze us right to death.” Gwaine coughed the cold from his lungs, visible and white in the air before the fire’s heat snatched it up. “Promise me that if I die freezing my ass off, you will tell everyone I went in an infinitely more impressive way.”

“So in this scenario, I survive?”

He pretended to consider it for a moment, eyes glancing back up to the sky in thought, as though any scenario where Merlin didn’t survive was not unimaginable to him. “Oh yes, no doubt. You put out enough heat to fuel a kiln. Imagine the snow’d just melt around you. I pity your horse, truly.”

And Merlin grinned. It was a grin that never failed to leave Gwaine breathless, simultaneously caught and unmoored. Merlin ducked his head away, shaking it in some poor attempt to hide his smile. He never quite knew what Merlin found amusing in him, but he thought he would do anything to get him to smile like that once more. It was a thought that surfaced every time he said something or did something that cracked even the hint of a smile across that face that was too often weary and marred by sadness. The darker part of him wished that smile was reserved only for him, but he knew that to be far from the truth. He saw it creep up occasionally with the other knights, with Gaius and Gwen and even some of the other servants. But he saw it come up with Arthur most of all. Almost always unseen by their king, but still so bright, even if Gwaine was the only one to notice it. He thought back in the recesses of his mind that he might be willing to kill someone if it meant that Merlin never had a reason to stop smiling.

It was that moment when everything halted. The noises of the forest and the crackling fire and whatever it was that Merlin was saying faded out beneath the roar of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins, beating in his ears. And through that all, through the cacophony of an unquieted mind, he simply thought, oh.

Part of what surfaced inside of him was something like relief. The liberation to finally know. To have a word for it, something to call it in his mind when he couldn’t quite explain what it was he felt--even to himself.

But the other part, the stronger one that so easily won out, felt like such a keen disgust. Self-loathing climbing within him at that feeling that chewed away at all his edges. So he wouldn’t utter the word, as though doing so might give power to what threatened to betray the only friendship he ever really managed to create.

When he regained his focus, Merlin was looking at him over the flames that lapped high between them. Lost in his own thoughts, he returned to the moment to find that night finally spilled over them. Not the hazy suggestion of darkness brought on by evening, but rather the dense blackness of an impenetrable night, engulfing everything but the few feet of light from the fire in darkness. And for a moment he wondered if he had voiced his realizations, let them slip out of him unbidden. He nearly couldn’t stand the tension that rose and just as quickly as the panic had swelled within him, brain desperately conjuring up some sort of escape plan to get him as far away from Merlin and Camelot as possible, Merlin was clucking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

Relief was like a flood in his veins and he was impressed with himself at how well he hid it. “No, sorry, bit tired.” He made it sound reluctant, an admission, like it wasn’t so intensely preferable to the truth.

“Perhaps we should turn in then?” Merlin suggested, but as Gwaine’s thoughts continued to tumble numbingly through his mind, all he could do was nod.

 

Drifting off did not come as easily as it usually did to Gwaine. Most nights he was long gone into sleep before he even hit the bed, but as they rolled out their bedrolls side by side he did his best to ignore the silence that had creeped between them and the guilt that accompanied it like an unwelcomed friend. Merlin dropped off quickly though, settling down on his bedroll, curled toward the fire as it slowly died. But with his back to Merlin’s he did the only thing he could think to do, which was to try to stop thinking altogether.

He couldn’t do it through sheer force of will. His attempts to tell himself not to think about it, whispering within his mind the unheeded commands over and over did nothing but inspire him to think of it more. Accepting the uselessness of his willfulness, he chose a different approach. Distraction. Distraction he could do; distraction he was good at. So he thought of other things, of sweet rolls freshly baked and the comfort of a bed warmed by a great fire and the pretty serving girl who always tried to keep his tankard full. And just as he slipped into the aching yawning bliss of sleep, he thought only vaguely of Merlin and the warmth of his back against his own.

 

He wasn’t too surprised when he woke and found himself turned toward Merlin in the night. He rented one too many spaces in beds at the inns he has stayed at, and woken to being shoved off by numerous fellow renters that didn’t enjoy the idea of an anonymous morning cuddle as much as he did. More than surprise to find his arm wrapped around him, his knee notched comfortably between Merlin’s, he was surprised that he had yet to be pushed away. He rarely got to enjoy those brief moments of contact with others as within seconds of waking he’d find his arms empty. As his murky, sleep fogged brain caught up, he’d send whoever his victim was one of his grins that he had the most success with when it came to getting him out of trouble. On a lucky day the person might scoff in disgust, on a not so lucky day he might find himself with a bruised rib or a black eye.

He didn’t allow himself to descend into the murky pit of wishful thinking and felt the even, deep breaths that confirmed undeniably that Merlin was still asleep. He indulged in it for a moment, just one moment to know what it felt like to remain by someone’s side in the morning, not having to watch them get dressed with regret or flee at the sight of him. But the moment passed and even if part of his ached to remain there, he forced himself to pull away from the warmth of Merlin’s back. He was slow to extricate his arm from beneath Merlin’s own, knowing too much movement might wake him. More urgently he had to pivot his hips away, too aware of how pleasing it would feel to push them forward, to press into Merlin and mold himself to every single plane and of his body.

But it wouldn’t do and he allowed himself only to lightly squeeze the material of Merlin’s shirt, a rough wool beneath his fingers that in the moment felt to his lofty mind as fine as silk. But he couldn’t linger, couldn’t catch the hem and tug it up, couldn’t press his fingers into the skin he found there, warm with sleep. Couldn’t press his lips to the patch of shoulder exposed beneath his scarf, couldn’t breathe in the scent of his hair. More than all of that, he couldn’t hold the man he ached for so keenly he thought it might burst inside him, spill from lips, let everyone know the secret he held closest.

Once fully extracted from Merlin, he turned onto his back. He was long since used to the awkwardness of sleeping on the ground, but in comparison to what he had just held in his arms, he might as well have been laying on a bed of rocks. So he sighed, from discomfort or from his own shame, he didn’t know. He told himself he wouldn’t dwell though as the morning sky lightened above and a new day loomed ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that is it for now. I have a plan to continue this like, I have a plot fully outlined and all but I felt like this also works as a standalone and wanted to go ahead and post it in case I never get around to finishing the whole story. Let’s be honest, the world is sorely lacking for merwaine fic and I wanted contribute. 
> 
> Anyways, if you wanna cry about these losers with me, you are more than welcome to over at ossseous.tumblr.com.


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